Musings and Milling About

I’ve been milling about in my little house for the past few weeks wondering what I’m supposed to be doing with myself and I’d just like to report that I’ve still come up with the same answer:  “not a fucking clue”.  However, I have just decided that the mouse I keep seeing has GOT to find a new place to roam…like outside or something – it’s unnerving to keep seeing it skitter up from the old timey furnace grate thingy by the tv and go behind the tv and then I never see it again until later at night when it skitters back into the old timey furnace grate thingy by the tv.  Where has it been all day?

At my “Journey” class I thought I had settled on going to college and finishing my degree, but a few things need to happen first before I settle on that.  One, bankruptcy, two, FASFA.  I haven’t completed either one because well, because I’m too busy with “not a fucking clue” at the moment and the skittering mouse in my little house.

I told my guy, Jerry, last night that I didn’t feel like I was going to be 50.  He said that “age was just a number” like that was supposed to make me stop talking.  He’s funny, isn’t he? I went on to explain why I didn’t feel like I was going to be 50.  You see, I thought I would at least “feel” 50.  People who are my age behave 50 and I don’t behave that way – you know?  Responsible? Grown-uppy?  Like, they have nice homes, cars that work, “work”, retirement stuff, savings, vacations.  I giggle. (I really am giggling because  I live in a little rented house, barely have a car, I do have some retirement stuff, I’m not sure if what I have would qualify as “savings”, but I think it does and vacationing is kind of a relative term, don’t you think?  Some people vacation in Mexico, others their backyard – depends.)  Anyway, I don’t feel like I should be looking straight down the barrel at 50.  I think I will let other “50 people” feel 50 – they seem to be doing a better job at it anyway.  Or they seem to be more comfortable or resigned to it – I’m not…I don’t want to feel like 50 or resign to be 50.  So someone else can go be that and I’ll just be here being this…whatever this is.

I’m currently sitting on the floor because I don’t really have a place to write comfortably…and my ass and foot have fallen asleep.  I’m so out of shape that any kind of movement that I do – like putting on pants – is a work out and I sweat buckets.  I try to pat myself on the back with compliments like “at least you’ve quit smoking,” but even that’s kind of bullshit since every time I drink beer I have to have at least 1 and a half smokey treats.  I’m still learning about true self and fake self, but my fake self sure has fun lying to my true self about all the cool shit she’s going to do.  ANNNNND…my foot is so asleep now that it actually hurts!!!!

(Meanwhile, the mouse has taken a new route and I had to move from the floor to the couch.  I’m afraid that I may have to set some traps…I don’t like skittering creatures. They make me nervous….like Jerry’s music – the loud, screamy kind.)

My daughter started a real job working for a county clerk’s office and she’s finishing her degree online.  She’s the real hero in my life story.  I can’t manage from day to day to decide whether or not it’s worth it to wear real clothes or to just stay in pajama pants, but she’s out there killing real life with a stick.  I don’t know how she got the skill of being so regimented because I’m honestly a hot mess most of the time and have been for most of her life.  Then again, she does text or call at least 4 – 5 times a day.   She has anxiety attacks over things that never happen and completely melts down over things that she “thinks” people say about her or “think” about her.  The struggle is real.  Anxiety disorder runs deep in these veins, so I guess the fact that she’s out there functioning in the real world is evidence that I didn’t completely ruin her.  Plus she’s really funny…quirky.  She’s also the only person I trust with an opinion of how I look in clothes.  Those years with Stacey and Clinton of “What Not To Wear” were not for nothing.

To keep my brain from atrophy, I do many things to keep it occupied.  I write in journals.  I have a regular journal; a journal for the dark, crappy thoughts; a 5-minute journal (that takes me a half-hour to write in); this blog is kinda like a journal, but way cooler and I think a little funnier, but eh, I’m the one on the couch because of a skittering mouse; and finally a journal for my journey class.  I also color when I remember that I have the stuff to color – I forget most of the time, which is a real shame because I have some great coloring books and colored pencils.  I like to meditate – which is really fun when I get on a roll and I can honestly tell people that I am meditating; currently, I’m on a roll and doing my meditating like a meditating champion.  I rock at meditating right now.

I also am a champion at Netflix binging and I am happy to report that I’ve watched every episode of “Endeavor” and rewarded myself by not starting a new British crime series right away.  Jerry was relieved, but he likes shows that star Ron Perlman.  Am I wrong for not being impressed with Hellboy as a serious actor?  I just find something really unnerving about that man.

I’ve also downloaded more books than I could ever read in a lifetime, but I’m a optimistic procrastinator, so I download with hope.  Right now I’m reading “Furiously Happy: A Funny Book About Horrible Things”  by Jenny Lawson.  I am in love with this book so much so that I want to marry it and I never want to get married again.  She gave me my new favorite word “stabby“; and thanks to her, I want a dead raccoon with a “furiously, happy to see you” face.  I wish I had her love of cats and making dead raccoons ride them, but I don’t. She does have a great bit about ringtails and that evened it all out.  Evened what out, exactly?  The score?  I don’t know,  but I’m not a cat person and the ringtail bit just brought me back round into the fold of her mental illness fervor and there I found kinship and belonging.  I think her husband Victor is a saint, much like the way I think my Jerry is.  Whenever I say or do my off the wall stuff, Jer is never surprised.  He just shakes his head and asks me “what is wrong with you?”  I don’t think he really wants to know, but I think it’s nice that he feigns the curiosity.   Personally, I believe that not knowing what’s wrong with me is the magic that is our relationship.  I wonder if Jerry would mind if I got a taxidermied raccoon with a furiously happy face?  Second thought, I think I want a real ringtail.  

(I hope no one comes to the door – I have Heat Miser hair.  I take that back – Heat Miser hair with a barrette.  If you don’t know who the Heat Miser is, then we can’t be friends…)

I saw on Instagram the other day that Kevin Smith of Jay and Silent Bob fame had a massive heart attack.  My life flashed before my eyes – seriously.  Silent Bob was always the “hip cult crowd” that I secretly coveted and followed because I wanted the cool hipsters to know that I watched all the Kevin Smith movies and followed his Facebook, Instagram and Twitter accounts.  The dude had a MASSIVE HEART ATTACK!  He was literally going to be “silent Bob” if they didn’t restart his heart.   This caused me to question my age – which is why told Jerry I didn’t feel like I was going to be 50.  Kevin Smith in my mind is this young dude that does quirky movies that hipsters try to understand, but can’t because they are hipsters and in reality Kevin is totally making fun of them!  I get the Kevin Smith humor….and he almost died….people who are younger than me can almost die from massive heart attacks.  I can do that because that is what happens when you creep up to this age…you start talking to people about who died in your age group.   I don’t want to be 50.  I think I’ll just skip it and be 60…there is no expectations for living then – you are 60 and everything is down hill and people die.

Want to hear something really funny?  Ok, not funny “ha ha”, but funny?  I want to volunteer for hospice.  Not so that I can tell people, “Oh, I volunteer for hospice and please stroke my ego for being so noble.”  I want to volunteer for hospice because I’m tired of being afraid of death.  I want to hang out with death and hold it’s hand.  I want to laugh with it and cry with it.  I want to be with people who have no one and let them know that when they stop breathing, someone was there and they weren’t alone.  It’s taken me this long to stop being afraid of living, so I think I want to stop being so afraid of the dying…and then the in between stuff can be ok.

 The sun is starting to shine.  Definitely not as cold as predicted.  I’m still avoiding the dishes – have we talked about this new avoidance?  Oh, boy.  I’ve developed an avoidance of dirty dishes.  I never have had a problem doing dishes.  Once upon a time, the chore was actually very therapeutic.  Like “down time” after a long day at work.  Now?  I will scrub a shitty toilet before I do a sink full of dishes!  I don’t know why I’ve developed this issue with dirty dishes!  Crazy right?  Not that anything “crazy” is really outside the box for me at this point in my life, but it’s just dishes!  Maybe in all of this rediscoverance I’ve awakened a “non-dish-doing demon” that was dormant for years and years that just needs to have his time in the sun.  For now though, I really need to don my pretty orange dish washing Mr. Clean rubber gloves (I purchased them the other day because I didn’t want to mess up my manicure – I finally quit biting my nails and they looked too pretty to muss up on a frying pan full of bacon grease!) – get to scrubbing and relieve my dad who is watching my sister’s sick children.

I really do manage to leave quite a few stories untold don’t I?  Dad is watching my sister’s kids and I need to relieve him because let’s be honest folks, the man is in his 70’s and taking care of a 7 and 4 year old for 8 hours – sober – is pretty taxing.  The man needs his beer, a nap and supper.  Since I’m living the charmed life of a ne’er do well at the moment, I will mosey on up to the little sister abode and watch the little sprites til sister gets home from work.  You might be thinking “why didn’t you just go early this morning and leave your poor 70’s dad out of the equation altogether?”  Well, that’s just crazy talk.

There are several things I enjoy in my life right now and one of them is being able to sleep.  Without the stress of “work” I have managed to do three things that in my lifetime of almost 50 years I’ve never done:  1.  Quit smoking (mostly not BS); 2. Stop biting my nails; 3. I sleep.

I’m very happy….just as Jenny Lawson would like for the world to be:  “FURIOUSLY HAPPY”.  I’m thrilled to oblige her in this endeavor.  When I tell her about it, I know she will throw a party in my honor and invite Rory I and Rory II.  I will bring ringtails, but she can’t have cats because I’m allergic to them – like bad and I’m not a cat fan.  We can invite Rick the Guinea Pig – he’s a great guy and he’ll let us strap a dead raccoon to his back.  He’s cool like that.

Off to enjoy the weekend.  You should all do the same.  Life is good.

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